


Circles

by Suspicious_Popsicle



Series: Mix Tape [5]
Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:06:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suspicious_Popsicle/pseuds/Suspicious_Popsicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A/N: This entire story was written because of Crash's Burger King antics. No, I jest. I did enjoy writing that part, though.</p>
<p>Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Circles

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This entire story was written because of Crash's Burger King antics. No, I jest. I did enjoy writing that part, though.
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.

“So…how did I end up driving again?” Flynn glanced down long enough to swat Yuri’s hand away from the radio before turning his attention back to the road. There was entirely too much traffic for two in the morning, and he had to wonder if the roads were always this busy at night. Though he’d lived in Zaphias all his life, he was still seeing new sides of the city, due largely to his strange friendship with Yuri.

From the backseat, Crash leaned forward, putting himself in between the driver and passenger seats. He stuck his hands out, ticking points off on his fingers. The smell of alcohol was sharp as he spoke.

“Dude, you said you wanted to go to the party, right? Well, my car only seats two, Judy’s has been making that weird noise and she can’t afford the parts to fix it, and I really don’t think we could have all managed on Yuri’s ride.”

“Sit down and put on your seatbelt,” Flynn said shortly. He was a little surprised when Crash actually sat back, but he didn’t hear the click of the belt.

“Actually, I guess we might have made it, but it would have taken some pretty sweet acrobatics, or at least some really tight balance and coordination. You ever seen those guys at the circus that ride, like, twenty to a scooter? I bet we could do that.”

Yuri snickered. “Crash, you trip getting out of bed. I would pay to see you try and be part of a human pyramid on a motorcycle. You’d bring the whole thing down.”

There was a soft thud and Yuri jolted forward. He leaned around until he was half in the backseat and obviously unbuckled. “Did you just kick my seat?”

“What are you gonna do about it?”

They started to scuffle, and Flynn tapped the breaks, just hard enough to get their attention.

“Both of you: sit down and buckle up! It isn’t safe to be playing around like that.”

Yuri sank back into his seat. There were no further thuds. There were no clicks, either.

“Are we there yet?” Judy asked, amusement thick in her voice, and Flynn cracked a smile.

They weren’t a mile down the road when Crash was leaning up into the front seat again.

“Ooh! There! Pull over!” He stuck an arm out straight across Flynn, pointing to a Burger King. “I want some fries.”

“What—?” Flynn sighed. “Yuri? Judy? What about you?”

“I could go for a shake.”

“I don’t mind taking a detour.”

Bowing to popular opinion, Flynn turned into the parking lot and pulled into a space near the door. The dining room was open, but empty, and the group filed in, even the rustle of their clothes seeming loud in the strange quiet. Really, it had been a strange night all around, and ending it as the only people eating at a fast food restaurant in the wee hours of the morning seemed almost normal at that point.

Crash was the first one to the counter, asking for fries and a Coke and being entirely more rambunctious than the stone-faced cashier probably wanted to deal with. He snatched one of the cheap, cardboard crowns that were kept on hand for children, and fitted it around his head as a matter of course before strolling regally over to the soda fountain to fix his drink. Yuri got a burger and a vanilla shake, and Judy ordered a value meal. Flynn settled for a soda, thinking he might need the caffeine. He was a little worried that the night was not going to be ending quite soon enough.

They settled into a booth at the back. Crash slid quickly into the seat next to Yuri, forcing him to scoot over as Flynn looked on, a little annoyed that he’d been so easily pushed aside. He sat down next to Judy and tried not to be surprised when Crash took out a flask of rum, poured some into his Coke, and took a long drink.

“Should you really be doing that? What if they throw you out?”

“You’ve never worked at a place like this, have you?” Yuri asked. “They don’t get paid enough to care, believe me.”

“Besides, if they say anything, I’ll just offer to share.”

He grinned and tilted the cup toward Yuri who shrugged and took a sip. Judy politely declined when offered the cup, and Crash surprised Flynn again by offering him some, as well. He shook his head, a little weirded out, and perfectly happy with his own, non-alcoholic, soda. He sat there quietly while the others joked between mouthfuls. Crash kept dipping his fries into Yuri’s milkshake, despite being constantly batted away. Yuri smacked at him and swore, but there was never any heat behind it, and his smirk never left his face. It was a little depressing to think that he never looked that way when he and Flynn fought. Between the two of them, anger came all too easily to the surface. Even little arguments could morph into full-on shouting matches. It seemed they really did bring out the worst in each other.

“They’re always like this,” Judy said. “One of these days, I’d like to see what would happen if one of them lost his temper with the other.”

“Crash doesn’t have a temper.”

“Takes too much energy. Hakuna matata, man. Don’t worry, be happy, and all that jazz.”

Flynn looked at Yuri who shrugged and sucked at his milkshake. He snapped up the next fry Crash tried to dip into it, pulling it right out of his grip with his teeth, and Flynn looked away. It wasn’t one of those cutesy, feeding each other scenes romcoms stereotypically delighted in, but it was close enough to serve as one more reminder that Yuri and Crash were more than friends. They acted like it didn’t matter, and he did his best not to let it bother him, but he couldn’t very well help how he felt. What made it even stranger was that Crash apparently _knew_ and genuinely seemed to have no problem with it. Hell, he was the one who had invited Flynn to go with them to the party in the first place.

\------------------------------------------------

When he got home from class Friday afternoon, there was a car Flynn didn’t recognize sitting in the driveway. He parked off to the side, eyeing it as he passed, and wondering which of Yuri’s friends would be driving a dusty old purple Trans Am. He could hear someone playing a few chords on bass guitar as he crossed the small porch, but he knew Judy’s car. One of her friends, maybe? He opened the door and stepped into the living room and froze for a moment. Judy was there, standing in front of the drum kit in the corner, but the car’s owner had to be Crash. He was lounging on the couch, a cigarette in one hand. The faint smell of cigarette smoke that always seemed to linger inexplicably in a house inhabited by two nonsmokers suddenly made sense, and Flynn tried not to wonder how often he was over for him to have so thoroughly left his mark. Yuri was sitting next to him, leaning forward to scribble something on a piece of sheet music, Old Scratch in his lap. He looked up and Flynn unfroze, trying to shake off how awkward he felt walking in, even though Judy was there, even though nothing private had been going on.

“We won’t be practicing much longer,” Yuri said. “In another hour or so, we’ll be heading out. You’ll have the house to yourself.”

“On a Friday night? Boring.” Crash made a quick gesture with his cigarette. “You should come to the party with us.”

Yuri shot him a stunned glare, which he ignored in favor of taking a drag and tapping out the ashes into an old soda can.

“Maybe,” Flynn said.

He hurried to make his exit, retreating to his room where he could pretend that the world still made sense. He shoved a couple of dirty t-shirts into the gap at the bottom of the door and pulled out his violin and tried to ignore the laughter he heard from the living room.

It was getting dark outside when a knock at his door pulled Flynn out of the end piece of Vivaldi’s “Summer.” Yuri spoke up from out in the hallway.

“We’re getting ready to go. You coming?”

He was at the door in a flash, pushing aside the shirts with his foot to open it up. Yuri stood there with a hand on his hip, halfway hidden between his black tee and jeans and the darkness of the hallway.

“I thought he was only joking. You really want me to go?”

“I don’t think it’s gonna be your sort of scene, but I’m not gonna tell you that you can’t come along.”

“Let me just get changed. I’ll be right out.” He had learned his lesson at Keiv Rock. Khakis and a button down were a mistake.

“It’s not that big a deal. No one’s gonna care.”

“Jeans, at least. I don’t want to mess up these pants.”

Yuri rolled his eyes, but as he stepped aside into a shaft of light from Flynn’s room, it was obvious he was holding back a smile. “Whatever. Make it quick, or we’ll leave without you.”

“I’ll just be a minute.” He shut the door, sure that he was being laughed at, and not at all certain that he wasn’t going to regret his decision. Neither of those things were enough to make him change his mind.

Flynn wound up being tasked with driving. Judy slipped into the backseat, and Yuri had the decency to take the front, rather than leave Crash to sit there. He played navigator through back roads and neighborhoods until the houses started thinning out and train tracks ran across the potholed road. Flynn spotted the house before Yuri pointed it out, a little single story place with a yard full of cars and a handful of people milling around, noticeable from a distance mainly due to the orange pinpricks of light from their cigarettes.

They pulled up and got out of the car. Outside, the noise of the party was reduced to a hollow buzz that filled out whenever someone opened the front door. Yuri set off through the cars, Anemone in her case on his back and Judy at his side. Crash dashed up from behind, pushing himself in between them and throwing his arms briefly around their shoulders before rushing off toward the amber light and shadowy figures behind the curtains and the promise hinted at by the scattering of empty plastic cups on the lawn near the porch.

It was much warmer inside among the partiers but, although the crowd and chatter and smoke and heat pressed in around Flynn, it was all far more subdued than he had expected. He wove through the crowd, following the eye-catching purple of Judy’s hair as she and Yuri made their way to the kitchen. The table was covered in pizza boxes, bags of chips, and bowls of dip. The counters were an unruly mess of various bottles, from cheap beer to fruit-infused liquors to vodka. Mixed in with them were any number of sodas and fruit juices. Yuri fixed himself something bright green with Sprite and a couple of maraschinos, then disappeared when Flynn turned his back to get a slice of pizza.

He was pretty sure he knew where Yuri had gone. There was a door in the kitchen that led to the basement, and whenever someone opened it up, the volume level in the house doubled. There was a deep, bass hum that he could practically feel resonate through his bones when he reached out and touched the doorknob, and he hesitated.

There was no question that he had come to the party purely because of Yuri—no use even trying to lie to himself about that—but plunging into the underground scene wasn’t necessarily going to make anything better between them. It sure as hell wasn’t going to magically make Yuri like him. So, really, there wasn’t any point in trying to endure the aural assault that was the basement. Besides, he could see into the living room from where he was standing. Someone had set up Rock Band. It had been a while since he’d played, all his games and systems having been left at his mother’s house when she’d kicked him out.

Letting his hand fall to his side, he turned away from the door. It was a party, after all. He was going to have some fun.

An hour later, Judy found him in the living room, a new favorite among the people lounging around chatting and watching the players. She caught his eye from the hallway, and he passed off the plastic guitar and bowed out to join her.

“Look at you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’d had one too many.”

“I’m driving,” he said, a little affronted that she would even suggest he might mix the two.

Smiling, she changed the subject. “I was surprised to catch you playing that. I was under the impression that you were somewhat selective about what sort of music you listen to.”

He smiled back, used to that reaction. “I am. When I’m just playing a game, however…it doesn’t matter so much.”

“I see.” She tilted her head toward the kitchen. “You should go find Yuri. He’s worried about you.”

“Yuri is?” He very much doubted that.

“About five minutes ago, he asked if anyone had seen you.”

“Right.” They’d split up an hour ago. Had he only just noticed? “Thanks.”

He headed back to the kitchen and the door to the basement as she wove her way through groups of partiers to check out the game. Flynn opened the door just as a roar went up from downstairs, and a few of the ground floor set chimed in comically, curling their fingers into claws, or laughing as the shout died down. The suddenness of it had been enough to push Flynn back a step, and he wished briefly that he’d brought his earplugs before he started down.

The unfinished basement had been made into something like a mancave. A red-felted pool table stood in one corner. Across from that was a fridge and small bar. The centerpiece, however, was the huge TV and equally impressive sound system. The mismatched sofa and pair of recliners that faced it were full of metalheads, and more stood behind them. Eyes fixed on the TV where grainy footage from a metal concert was playing, they all but ignored Flynn. Whatever they were watching seemed much darker than Dragon Swarm, and he didn’t see Yuri among them, though he caught a glimpse of Crash near the pool table.

There was something happening on the other side of the stairs. He could barely make it out over the music, but he thought he could hear banging and shouting and a general clamor indicating the sort of mayhem where one might find a certain Yuri Lowell. Turning away from the band onscreen with their grimy, white stage paint and apparent fetish for Satanic imagery, Flynn walked around the stairway to take a look.

He found himself staring down a short hall into a small room, empty of furniture, where several partiers had apparently lost their minds. Someone had left a bare mattress in the middle of the floor and, from what Flynn could tell, a group of people with too much energy to spare had taken it as an invitation to treat the room like a bounce house. They were jumping all over the place, back and forth across the mattress, throwing themselves at each other, sometimes crashing together, then springing apart to go slamming into a wall, other times knocking each other down to land with a quick bounce and an even quicker roll to the side to avoid being trampled. They looked, for all the world, like a group of very large, hyperactive five year olds, and Flynn snorted, holding back a laugh.

“Incoming!”

The shout behind him was all the warning he got before someone barreled into him, flinging an arm around his shoulders and hustling him through the door, directly into the chaos. Flynn was flung straight into one of the metalheads, and they both went down hard. Expecting some rather unpleasant retribution, he wasn’t prepared for the heavily tattooed helping hand that hauled him to his feet. The man he’d knocked down grinned at him and clapped him on the back in an aggressively friendly way that sent him stumbling several steps further into the room and nearly into another collision. Flynn spun around, wobbling, and backed quickly against the nearest wall, ready to dive out of the way as he edged back toward the door.

Crash slammed into the wall next to him, grinning and blocking his path. He was the one who had pushed Flynn in to begin with.

“Having fun?”

He considered a couple different responses before deciding to ignore the question. “I’m looking for Yuri!” He had to shout to be heard over the music.

“Out back! Through the kitchen door! Can’t miss it!” He flashed Flynn the horns and bounded off to happen to a few other people.

A few quick steps, and Flynn made the safety of the stairs. It was with no small relief that he left the basement behind. There was a door straight across the kitchen leading outside, and the cool night air was almost enough to make him shiver after the heat of the crowded house.

There were about half a dozen people crowded onto the small back porch, sitting on plastic patio furniture or the steps down into the yard or leaning against the siding. Yuri was sitting on the railing, strumming something on Anemone that Flynn recognized from one of the Zelda games. Otter was playing merrily along on one of his ocarinas while someone else beat out a rhythm on two small drums lashed together. He listened as the song was played out, and felt a little thrill run through him to see the cheerful smile Yuri tossed his way.

“Hey! I was starting to think you’d bailed on us.”

He waved him over and Flynn picked his way through the group, moving to stand in the empty corner right next to him. Up close, he could see that Yuri was a little flushed, and his breath smelled of alcohol and Kool-Aid when he spoke.

“You remember Otter, right? We saw him when we went to ZaFest, before we got kicked out.”

“I remember.” He nodded to Otter. “Good to see you.”

“Likewise. You play?”

“Violin.”

“Any good?”

“The best,” Yuri put in. “Flynn plays a mean fiddle.” He laughed suddenly, happily. “And he sings in the shower!”

“Yuri—!”

There was no stopping him. A few, quick chords from his guitar, and Yuri launched into “Will the Circle be Unbroken.” His voice was mellow and full, and just a little rough around the edges. He sang the song like maybe it meant something to him, and for all Flynn knew, it did. They’d almost never discussed anything important aside from music. Maybe Yuri’d had a family that he used to attend service with, just like Flynn had. It had been a long time since he’d gone. His mother hadn’t set foot in a church since the funeral, and Flynn simply hadn’t had it in him to go alone. The songs were still with him, though, some of them, and he could still remember being small enough for his father to lift him up on his shoulders, right there in the middle of so many people, all of them _singing_ ….

A few other voices from the group had joined in. Those who weren’t singing were clapping with a measured beat. Between verses, Yuri smiled at him, and Flynn added his voice to the rest, sending the familiar lyrics out into the night. He closed his eyes, the better to fill himself with the song and its warm nostalgia.

They stayed for another few hours, until the party started winding down. Flynn spent most of that time outside with Otter and his group, talking or listening to Otter play, accompanied by his friend with the drums. Yuri slipped away after a while, and Flynn watched him go, acutely aware of the fading warmth and phantom sense of pressure on his shoulder where Yuri had grabbed him to steady himself when he got down from his perch. There was usually so little contact between them—less than when Flynn had first moved in and they’d fought so often—but he supposed that was normal for people who were, after all, nothing more than roommates. It bothered him far more than it should have, and he left Yuri alone until it became obvious that the party was ending. It was time to go home.

A new concert was playing when Flynn went downstairs in search of Yuri and the others, every bit as loud as the first. There was a new group in the asylum, as he’d begun thinking of the small room next to the stairs—or, at least, he hoped it was a new group after so long—and Yuri and Judy were in the thick of it, bowling each other over as often as they tag-teamed people. Flynn stood to the side of the door, not interested in being pushed in again, and watched them grin as they fell and got back up and charged once more.

Yuri spotted him and waved him in, but Flynn shook his head. He raised his wrist, tapping his watch, and Yuri held up his hand, fingers splayed, _five more minutes, pleeease_? Trusting that they wouldn’t take too much longer, he went back upstairs, surfacing once more out of the roaring ocean of sound and feeling momentarily deaf in the relative quiet of the kitchen.

Crash was sitting at the table, halfway through a slice of long-cold pizza and a beer.

“Rounding up the usual suspects?”

“Something like that.” He took a seat across from him. Although he usually tried to avoid Crash, Flynn couldn’t say he’d ever felt any real animosity from the lanky metalhead. He’d seen Crash compete with him for Yuri’s attention, like that time at the Black Hole Bistro where he’d been asking so many questions about the menu, but it always had a teasing edge to it, and he got the distinct impression that Crash was only being playful. Maybe he knew Flynn didn’t have a chance, or maybe he just really didn’t care. Neither thought made Flynn inclined to like him much, which wasn’t really fair. Crash had never been anything less than friendly.

“Why did you invite me?” Flynn asked him suddenly.

Crash grinned at him and gestured vaguely around himself. “Dude, it’s a party. More the merrier, right?”

Was it really that simple? Did Crash somehow consider him a friend? Someone who posed no threat to his relationship? Did he really trust Yuri so implicitly that he had no qualms about befriending his boyfriend’s roommate, who was currently _interested_ in said boyfriend? Wouldn’t most people encourage their significant other to find someone else to live with in that situation?

“I don’t understand you.”

“Then you’re trying too hard.”

The basement door opened just then and Yuri and Judy came up, breathing a little heavy, but looking pleased with themselves.

Yuri looked them over, smile growing even bigger, and Flynn could practically see the wrong idea forming in his head. He probably thought that the two of them were getting to be friends. Flynn stood up, shoving a hand into his pocket in search of his keys.

“Everybody ready to go?”

\--------------------------------------------------------

Crash was the last to finish his food. He’d spent as much time messing with Yuri as eating, and by the time the last fry was gone, Flynn was more than ready to go. He still had to drop Judy off at home before they could go back and he could be rid of Yuri’s careless boyfriend for the evening.

He rubbed a hand over his face as they left the restaurant. It had been a while since he’d stayed up so late, and he was worn out and feeling a bit short-tempered. He wanted to get home and get to bed before that got the better of him. He and Yuri hadn’t fought all day. It would be nice if it stayed that way.

Judy lived in an apartment complex on the edge of the city. Taking her home added a good half an hour to the drive time, but she and Crash lived in opposite directions and they were all playing nice, so Flynn had agreed. He honestly wouldn’t have minded at all if he weren’t so tired, but his nerves were wearing thin, and Crash’s very presence was starting to grate. So early in the morning, weariness could make even the most genuinely friendly people seem to have ulterior motives behind their every action, and Flynn was reaching the point where, likely or not, it felt like Crash’s easygoing attitude hid mocking amusement.

Thankfully, he didn’t stick around once they got back to the house. He and Yuri said their quick goodbyes, just a wave and a ‘see you later.’ No particular affection, nothing more than would normally pass between friends. Yuri went and sat down on the porch step, and Crash got into his car and drove off. After a moment’s hesitation, Flynn took a seat next to Yuri and looked up at the few stars visible on the indigo canvas of the sky.

There was quiet between the two of them, an occurrence unusual enough that, with things as strange as they were, Flynn felt the need to fill it with talk. And he did have a question.

“Why didn’t you think I would like the party?”

He’d gone to ZaFest specifically to see the bands at the metal stage, after all. That hadn’t been so bad. He’d even liked a couple of them, much to his own surprise. He wasn’t going to be switching out his khakis and wristwatch for leathers and studs any time soon, but…he’d thought that Yuri had appreciated that he was making an effort.

Yuri shrugged. “You didn’t stick around earlier, and that was just a little bit of practice with Judy. I’m not gonna try and make you hang out in my circles.”

That was it? That was the reason he’d thought Flynn wouldn’t want to go? Was he _stupid_?

“I didn’t stay because Crash was there.”

“Oh.” Staring down at his hands where they hung between his knees, Yuri sighed. “You still don’t like him, do you?”

It wasn’t really a fair question. He barely knew Crash. The problem was that he wasn’t particularly happy about what he _did_ know. Maybe Yuri and Crash were determined to act like everything was a-okay, but it wasn’t. It was weird and uncomfortable and just…messed up.

“He’s a good guy—” Yuri started. Flynn cut him off.

“Sorry, but I’m getting really sick of hearing that.”

“You haven’t even given him a chance!”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

“Fine. Be an ass about it.” He stood up, heading for the door. “But if you expect me to start begging permission or go tiptoeing around whenever I want to have friends over, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“You just go do whatever the hell it is you want to do. No need to start taking me into account now.”

Yuri whistled sharply into the house, and Repede came dashing out to meet him. As they walked off the porch, he made a point of shoving into Flynn and didn’t look back on his way up to the street.

“There are leash laws, Yuri!”

“So, call the cops and have me arrested. Can’t hook up with anybody if I’m in a cell!”

“You are such an asshole!”

“Takes one to know one!” Without looking back, he held up a single finger salute over his shoulder.

“What are you, five?”

Yuri didn’t respond, which was just as well. Bad enough that they were having a shouting match where all the neighborhood could hear, but doing so past three in the morning just seemed like an incredibly bad idea. Not to mention, rude.

He growled, though it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as yelling at Yuri would have been, and went inside. As he locked the door, he hoped briefly that Yuri had forgotten his key, before he realized it was really a stupid thing to be vindictive over, since he would only end up getting out of bed to let him in, anyway. No matter how angry Yuri made him, it hadn’t yet been enough to make Flynn quit liking the bastard.

Moving restlessly through the house, he stopped in his room to put his keys and wallet away, then headed into the bathroom. Splashing his face helped him cool down a bit, and he sighed as he reached for a washcloth to dry off with.

He liked Yuri. The question of when he’d had time for that sort of interest to develop during those fractious first months was one he couldn’t answer, but he liked Yuri all the same. He liked how he was loyal, honest, and hardworking. He liked his dedication to music and his cooking. He liked his eyes, and had to admit to a certain amount of fascination with that tongue ring.

But Yuri was with Crash, and Crash was a lot of things Flynn wasn’t—‘a metalhead’ and ‘not a constant source of fights’ being at the top of the list. If those were the sorts of things Yuri wanted in a partner, then Flynn really didn’t have a chance. He wasn’t that person, and he doubted he ever would be. Maybe they were just too different.


End file.
